


Couldn't Wash The Echoes Out

by cave_leporem



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alcohol, But only once (more's the pity), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking, Started in 2014, Starts with canon results, then moves into a creative place I call artistic license
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 21:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7699231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cave_leporem/pseuds/cave_leporem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So yeah, Dani knows he’s got the mother of all inappropriate infatuations with his younger team mate. ..</p>
<p>It’s not the first time Dani’s fantasised about Marc, but it’s the first suggestion that maybe Marc wouldn’t reject him out of hand in return...</p>
<p>Yeah, he has the mother of all problematic infatuations with his team mate. He’s ridiculously grateful that he has years of practice in keeping his thoughts behind his eyes, unseen, or the garage would become incredibly uncomfortable for both of them.</p>
<p>(And then Catalunya happens, and Dani begins to wonder.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Wash The Echoes Out

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, hallo all. 
> 
> Secondly, because I initially forgot this last time: Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish. This is a work of fiction.
> 
> Thirdly, general notes: this was started in 2014, and I continued with the general theme of nobody-hates-anybody when I finally knuckled down and put a middle into the beginning and ending I already had. Basically, starting this, I'd read and written a lot of ffic where Marc was the one with the ages old crush, and wanted to write the reverse. Then I heard Florence + The Machine's 'Drumming Song' and my fate was sealed, even two years later. I also kept the original results from time of writing; some of these will be now classed as AU. Title is in fact from that particular song, as is the initial header to the fic.
> 
> I will state for the record that I reference a press conference (2013, I think? Off the top of my head) infamously titled 'The Gay Question' in this fic. The reason I state this is that when I looked for the video of said conference for reference purposes, my laptop's AntiVirus popped up and basically stated that the video had more issues embedded in its files than I do personally. 
> 
> I buy and install top of the line virus protection. It scared me slightly the sheer scale of issues simply viewing this video had the potential to create if I had not done so: I do not recommend looking for the press conference online unless you have an assured, virus free source. Please take this warning seriously; I've not tried to find a clean video for eighteen months at least.
> 
> If I've missed anything (notes, disclaimer or warning wise; I'm out of practise) don't hesitate to message me :D
> 
> Onwards for fic. Enjoi.

_There’s a drumming noise inside my head; it starts when you’re around._

Dani’s got pole. He’s in pole position at Catalunya. It’s telling that his immediate response is not happiness; he’s completely bemused. _What happened to Marc?_

When Marc’s bike doesn’t pull into parc firmé, he starts to worry. But Marc appears out of the crowd eventually with scuffed leathers and an embarrassed smile.

Dani ignores the steward gesturing at him and walks over to his team mate. “What happened to you?” He asks. He doesn’t need to elaborate.

Marc gives him a look that states, _you need to get your head checked_ , and waves at his leathers. “I crashed,” he says slowly, drawing out the obvious answer. “Can’t you tell?”

Dani scratches the back of his head; a nervous habit. “Ask a stupid question, I guess.”

It brings a true smile to Marc’s face as they walk in to the press conference together. “Ya get a stoo-pid ansa,” he drawls in what is possibly the worst American accent the world has ever heard. Nicky would be ashamed. Colin Edwards would be _horrified_. It’s oddly endearing, like so much else about this young man.

Dani wonders if he doesn’t need to get his head checked, after all.

-*-

Situation normal is resumed the next day, but Dani hasn’t felt this high in months. He doesn’t care that he lost second place in trying to take first; his blood is pumping, he feels feverishly hot in his race suit and there’s a drumming noise in his head even the cheers of Marc’s team, bouncing their boy wonder on their shoulders, can’t drown out. He drags Marc aside as they’re walking up to the podium.

“That was brilliant,” he says emphatically, something warming in his stomach when Marc’s eyes look as bright and satisfied as Dani feels.

“God, yes,” Marc breathes out. Something about the younger rider’s expression makes Dani think of dimly lit rooms and silk sheets; of slow, decadent sex, the kind that leaves you wonderfully exhausted and craving more as you both gasp for breath in the afterglow. There’s something so darkly satisfied in his eyes; a pride bordering on arrogance mixing with the wide-eyed wonder of a young man who can’t quite believe he’s actually doing this. Dani wants to enjoy the former and seduce the latter, and either option is equally appealing.

It’s not the first time Marc’s made him think like this. Dani licks his lip unconsciously, hoping his thoughts aren’t written across his face. It stuns him when Marc zeroes in on the movement, gaze lingering on his mouth longer than a quick glance would allow.

_Did he just-_ But they need to get to the celebration; there’s no time for pursuing that now. His name is already being called.

It’s not the first time Dani’s fantasised about Marc, but it’s the first suggestion that maybe Marc wouldn’t reject him out of hand in return.

-*-

So yeah, Dani knows he’s got the mother of all inappropriate infatuations with his younger team mate. He isn’t sure when it started; it’s more like he woke up one morning gasping, painfully hard and chasing the remnants of his crystal clear dream- him and Marc, entwined so closely he can’t tell where he ends and the younger rider begins, Marc chanting Dani’s name over and over- and Dani’s fisted his cock and finished himself off before the details fade away in the light of day-

Then clarity returned, and he realised what he’d done. He’d got himself off to the thought of his team mate, so satisfyingly that he was panting a little, sprawled out on his bed with that boneless quality to his muscles he normally needed a partner to properly achieve.

So, yeah. Inappropriate doesn’t really scratch the surface on this one. It feels like it’s been months since he had a restful night’s sleep, one where he isn’t dreaming about Marc’s dark eyes and his mouth, so often shaped in a grin or a pout that begged to be nipped, or his elegant hands with those long fingers that could stroke all of the right places inside of him-

He has a problem. And it’s not the ‘gay thing’- the near-infamous press conference about a year ago put paid to that (he watched it closely at the time, trying to tell if anybody was lying to the camera, but if they were he couldn’t see it); he has little fear of being ostracised by (most of, hence the last niggling tremor) the other riders if he ever admitted he liked men publically.

(The corporations might be another matter, but it’s a changing world. ‘Live and let live’ is becoming something that actually looks achievable, globally speaking, with a bit more time. He’s talking in the long run here: a decade at least. Probably more. But it’s already vastly different to how it was for him growing up gay in a Catholic town and wondering if he was already doomed to go to Hell for his perceived sins.)

The problem is- this is his team mate. His team mate who is seven (and change) years younger than him.

Marc is an adult in his own right, and Dani would be a naïve fool if he assumed the other man was still innocent. It’s not that. Dani’s an idiot because he’s fallen into the trap that so many homosexual men and women do. They fall for people who will never like them back- people who are heterosexual, with no attraction to their own gender. Marc isn’t the first man Dani’s had this problem with, and he probably won’t be the last. He’s learnt to be philosophical about this. It is the longest-running infatuation he’s ever had, however. Usually, Dani imagines what it could be like with the person for roughly a week, gets it out of his system and tells himself sternly, _no, it will never happen_ and that is the end of it. He’ll have a new crush three weeks later.

Two months later in this case, and it is very much not the end of it. Dani misses sleeping. That statement is only not ridiculous when compared to his other, oft-thought lament: he misses Marc when the younger man isn’t around.

Yeah, he has the mother of all problematic infatuations with his team mate. He’s ridiculously grateful that he has years of practice in keeping his thoughts behind his eyes, unseen, or the garage would become incredibly uncomfortable for both of them.

(And then Catalunya happens, and Dani begins to wonder.)

-*-

Marc has a problem. Marc is freaking out. Marc calls up his brother and checks how much alcohol the younger Marquez has in stock before inviting himself over and collapsing on Alex’s sofa.

Alex hands over the first of what’s going to be _so many drinks_ to get through this and pokes his brother in the ribs. “So, what’s up?”

Marc pretty much downs his bottle with his eyes closed and thrusts his hand out blindly for another. He drinks this one more slowly, sipping at it before giving his brother an answer. “I’m freaking out.”

Alex pokes him again. “Yeah, I got that. Why?”

Marc needs to delay his brother until the alcohol hits him; he can’t ask this question sober. “Just- give me a few minutes. And drink; you’ll probably want to be tipsy for this.” The younger man raises his eyebrows, but does as instructed. It’s serious. Really serious.

Fifteen minutes later, there are five empty bottles between them (it’s three-two to Marc, but this isn’t football so Alex doesn’t mind the score) and Alex is feeling slightly light headed with the speed, if not the quantity (or admittedly, quality), of his drinking. Marc’s blinking rapidly enough that it’s obviously hitting him, too. So Alex tries again. “What’s up?”

They aren’t drunk enough to slur, thank God. Marc takes a deep breath, and confesses. “I- I had a thought. One of those thoughts. Today. About a man. And I can’t get my head around it at all, and I need to know if I’m right in freaking out and if you’re going to freak out with me- please don’t, that isn’t going to help, unless you really need to because that’s probably an answer in and of itself and-”

Alex splutters. “Jesus, Marc.” He stares straight ahead, weighing up his brother’s confession.

Marc whines. “Alex! Are you freaking out?”

“Yes!” Alex confirms, like his tone didn’t make that clear. “Yes I’m freaking out- stop looking so scared, not because of the man bit-” he considers that thought, and makes his meaning a bit clearer, “Yes, because of the man bit, but not because I’m horrified or disgusted or anything like that. Because- really? Somebody’s turning you gay?” He cocks his head, trying to work out how that would work.

“I’m not gay,” Marc insists. “Which is why I’m freaking out. Nobody is turning anybody gay, here.”

Alex hums thoughtfully. “It’s bi-curious, isn’t it? That’s a thing now, right?”

“Alex!”

“I’m meant to ask you this sort of thing,” Alex points out, “Younger to older brother and all.”

“You’re meant to be _helping_!”

“So who was it?” Alex has to ask. He needs to know this like he needs air to breathe.

“I’m not answering that!”

“Please, Marc?” Alex wheedles, “It’s not like I’m going to say anything!”

Marc throws his hands up in the air. “I- it’s probably nothing, but- we were talking, and he looked so pent up from the race, and maybe his lips were dry or something because he licked them, and I noticed, and then I couldn’t stop noticing and I wondered-”

Tipsy or not, Alex cuts his brother off before too much information is shared. “Who? Come on Marc, tell me who!”

“It was Dani, alright?” the words burst out of a broken brain-mouth filter. “It was my team mate, God Alex, and I’m freaking out because what if now I’ve thought it once I can’t stop? What if he notices? What if he works it out and is horrified and all I can say is, sorry, I had an inappropriate thought about you after one of the races but I’m not gay anyway so it’s really no big deal? I have to work in the same garage as him, Alex!”

“So…” Alex mulls it over. “You aren’t freaking out about the gay thing, then. Not really.”

“I’m not gay!”

“But I mean,” Marc seems awfully intent on that fact, “It doesn’t horrify you. You seem more worried about the repercussions than the thought itself. If you’re not gay, why is it a problem? You shouldn’t have any more thoughts like it anyway, right?”

“I don’t have a problem with being gay,” Marc says, more calmly now sirruzz bizness is coming into the discussion. “I respect the decision; it is their decision, and nobody else should have a say in it. But I never thought- I’m not gay. Why did I have that thought?”

“You know what they say,” Alex grins, “Everybody has an exception.”

“Oh yeah?” Marc shoots back, “And who’s yours, if everybody has one?”

“Valentino Rossi,” Alex replies immediately, no sign of joking to be found. “Imagine the experience- hey!” He coughs as Marc elbows him in the gut.

“He’s older than Dani,” Marc says, and the surrealism of this conversation is not lost on him. It could be a throwback to five years ago, when the brothers used to compare actresses and singers on a who’s-the-fittest basis, but this is about men and he isn’t a teenager anymore.

“So you’re not homophobic,” Alex stares incredulously, “But you are ageist?”

“No!” Marc denies the accusation fiercely. “It’s all fine! It’s all individual choice, individual personalities: sex, colour, creed, age- none of that matters!” He drags the topic back to the reason he’s destroying his younger brother’s alcohol stockpile. “I’m freaking out because I never thought it would happen to me!”

“If it’s a personal choice, and it’s all fine,” Alex says slowly, “Why are you freaking out just because it’s to do with you? Can’t you personally choose this?”

Marc drops his gaze. “Would that bother you?” He mutters into his lap.

“Don’t be so bloody stupid, Marc,” Alex snaps. “Of course it wouldn’t!”

Marc looks back up again, relief in his eyes. “I don’t deserve you, do I?”

Alex grins, glad the tension’s mostly dissolved. “That’s what you said when mum blamed you for the Christmas tree, wasn’t it? But I don’t think you meant it in exactly the same way.”

Marc cuffs him on the ear. “I didn’t touch that damn tree- you’re the one who knocked it over!” They laugh together; even Roser admits now that she punished the wrong son for that piece of Christmas chaos. Marc sobers up (in tone, if not in blood levels). “I’m going to be thinking about this for weeks. That’s what I’m worried about.”

Alex pats his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe that’s what you need- to consider if you want to choose that way.”

“But what about Dani? He wasn’t at the press conference, he didn’t answer the question, I don’t know how he feels about any of this-”

“Dani’s a pretty tolerant guy, from the looks of it,” Alex points out logically. “You never see him riled up over anything.”

“True.”

“Who knows? He might even be flattered.”

This, Marc doubts. “I’m pretty sure he’s straight.”

But Alex frowns, thinking about it. “Is he? He never has a girl with him in the paddock; there’s never any rumours about him finding a willing fan and taking them back for the night. There’s been nothing at all, not that I can remember…”

Marc shrugs. “So he’s discreet. That’s more likely than him being in the closet.”

“It would be something, though, wouldn’t it?” Alex wonders, “If your exception turned out to be gay, and willing.”

“He’s neither,” Marc says decisively, like that’s the end of it, “And I never said he was my exception!”

Alex laughs. “He was your hero. He’s your team mate, and friend. You’ve thought about it. How is any of this not adding up for you?”

Marc remains stubbornly silent for a moment. Then he sighs. “Beer me. And bite me, bastard.”

“Our parents are married,” Alex argues, but he complies with a chuckle.

-*-

The next race is an exercise in frustration for the Honda crews. Both Dani and Marc are highly distractible, easily startled and walking on eggshells around each other. It does not a productive weekend make.

They’re also glancing at each other when they think the other’s not looking. This has made for some very uncomfortable moments, with blushes and mumbling answers to questions.

Livio sighs, but the results are still there, so he sits back and lets them get on with it. Until one of them brings a problem to him, he isn’t going to borrow trouble.

-*-

Dani finds Vale hiding between a wall of tyres, about to light up a cigarette. “Got a spare?” He begs the Italian. “I need some nicotine right now.”

Vale raises his eyebrows, and offers over pack and lighter. “Thought you quit,” he exhales a long stream of smoke into the night air.

“I did,” Dani mutters, lighting up and taking a long drag. The nicotine hits him hard; he gets light-headed for a moment. It’s exactly what he needs.

“So..?” Vale leaves the question there, not pushing, but giving Dani the option. This is why Dani likes talking to Vale; he can be a nosy bastard once you let him in, but if you shut him out from the start he asks no questions.

Dani keeps it simple. “Marc’s driving me insane,” he says, feeling calmer with the ritualistic motions of cigarette to mouth, breathe in, exhale, repeat.

“And this is news? Or are you just now catching up to the rest of the paddock?”

Dani flicks ash at him. “You of all people cannot moan because he’s incredibly talented and making the rest of us look like amateurs.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“So you didn’t try to strangle him after Mugello?”

“Well, I didn’t try very hard.”

Dani snorts. Vale shrugs, a casual _what-can-you-do?_ gesture. The Catalonian needs to talk to someone about this, because it is eating him alive. Very cautiously, he eases into the question. “Remember that press conference at Jerez last year? We weren’t there, but it was pretty big news.”

Vale knows what he’s talking about. “’The Gay Question’? What about it?” Vale coughs on the smoke. “Dani, what are you not telling me?”

“What would you have said?” Dani keeps his eyes averted, not looking at the Italian until he knows what the answer will be.

“I’d’ve said it would be a surprise, but not a problem,” Vale says carefully.

“Well, surprise,” Dani says it bitterly. “And Marc’s driving me up the wall.”

The Italian sort-of gets it. “He knows? I wouldn’t have thought he’d have a problem either, given what he said then.”

Dani goes _white_. “No! He doesn’t- well, that’s the problem. He didn’t know, I’m sure. But…”

“He might now?” Vale guesses.

Dani takes one last drag, right down to the filter, and stubs the butt out. “He keeps looking at me. Like he’s trying to work something out. And I’m caught between paralysing fear he’ll make an issue of it and stupid, _stupid_ hope-”

“Hope?” Vale gets the rest of it. “You mean he’s _driving you up the wall_ in that way? In the sense of, I want to kiss you and cuddle you and have lots of hot, sweaty bedtime with you sort of way?”

Dani goes _scarlet,_ this time. “Yes,” he grinds out, “In that sense.”

“ _Shit_.” Vale says it with feeling, and offers Dani another cigarette. “You probably need this more than I do.”

“Thanks,” Dani says wryly.

Vale takes a deep breath, and says his own piece. “Just so you know- so you don’t worry or panic or anything like that- it would be halfway hypocritical of me to have a problem with you.”

Dani eyes him sidelong. “Yeah?”

Vale shrugs again. “Yeah. What can I say? You only live once, life’s for enjoying, I’m greedy, etc., etc.” It makes sense, given Vale’s character.

Dani nods. “Yeah, that helps.” Then he grins. “If I’d known that six years ago, things could have been- interesting.”

Vale takes it the right way: he laughs. “We missed out there, didn’t we?” He considers Dani’s profile. “Unless..?”

Dani nudges him with his elbow. “Missed the boat,” he teases. “I might be fickle, but never with more than one person at a time.”

Vale chuckles. “I’m not tall, gangly or youthful enough for you anymore, right? Worth asking anyway.”

“You only live once,” Dani agrees, and they share a conspiratorial grin in the dim lighting. “Actually, this is what I’m worried about. I get crushes on straight people, and get them out of my system pretty quickly. But Marc- it’s been months, now.”

If Vale’s surprised by how much Dani’s sharing with him, he doesn’t show it. They’ve been pretty good friends for years, now. “You said he’s been looking? Maybe he’s not-”

“-straight?” Dani finishes the sentence.

“Maybe, yeah. Maybe you’re picking up on it, and that’s why this one hasn’t faded.”

Dani lets out a mirthless laugh. “My gaydar might be terrible- hence the straight-guys crushes- but it’s not that bad. He’s straight.”

“How can you be gay and have terrible gaydar? Isn’t that against the laws of the universe?”

“I wish,” Dani says ruefully. “And it’s not like you picked up on me, Mr Life’s For Enjoying.”

Vale elbows him. “But I only have half the attraction,” he explains. “So I’m going to miss things.”

“You like both; you could say you have double the attraction. So no excuses.”

“Want me to make some inquiries?”

Dani nearly swallows his cigarette. “ _No_! God, no, don’t you dare.”

“If you change your mind…” the Italian winks at him.

“I won’t.” Dani is firm on this. He does not need Valentino Rossi cruising the paddock for him. (He can imagine the headlines now, and it is something that can only be funny because it’s never going to happen.)

“So you’re going to do something about it yourself?”

“Maybe,” Dani wonders. “At the very least, we need to sort out the tension. I miss being friends with him, if nothing else.”

“You don’t want to be friends, Pedrosa.”

“He’s probably straight,” Dani points out, the tone very close to whining.

The Italian claps him on the shoulder. “And yet ten minutes ago, that ‘probably’ was ‘definitely’.” He smirks. “Yeah, you’re going there, aren’t you?”

“You going to wish me luck?” Sarcasm is an undervalued communication device, Dani feels. It’s wasted on the rest of the world, as Vale proves then and there.

“How does the old phrase go? A kiss for luck? Pucker up, Dani.” The Catalonian shoves him away, both of them laughing. Vale taps his chin thoughtfully. “So me, Marc- anybody else I know caught your attention?”

Dani acts like he’s scandalised. “Mister Rossi! I might be a rogue, but I will not kiss and tell!”

“So there was kissing?”

The Catalonian laughs. “Not telling.”

“Dani!”

-*-

“Dani! God, Dani, right there-”

-*-

Marc wakes up in a cold sweat, achingly hard. He suppresses it with every fibre of his willpower. He doesn’t fall back asleep.

-*-

“Dani!” Marc yelps, jumping back from where they nearly walked into each other. “What are you doing here?”

Dani looks around at the orange walls, and lifts an eyebrow at his team mate. “At our garage? On the morning of a race at a time just before free practice?”

Marc blushes. It covers his cheeks, moves down his neck, and Dani wants to know how far down it reaches. “Is this where I say-”

“Ask a stupid question?”

“And I’ll get a _stoo-pid_ answer.” Marc grins, but there’s still something nervous about it. Dani is desperate to know why Marc’s so twitchy around him. Does he know? Did he do something to tip the younger man off? He decides to go fishing.

“Hey- we’ve been a bit- tense- these last few weeks. Want to get a drink after the race and sort it out?” He would have gone for dinner, but that was skirting too close to ‘date’ territory. He doesn’t want to push Marc further away before he even knows if he’s got a chance.

As he predicted, Marc looks torn. And as he predicted, the younger man is too polite to refuse a ‘friendly’ request to ‘fix’ whatever’s obviously ‘wrong’ between them. If there were any more finger quotes in that thought, Dani would swear he was fifteen again.

“Yeah, that’d be- nice,” Marc says it like it’s the last word he was thinking of.

Dani forces himself to ignore the pause. He’s trying to fix things here. _Hook, line and sinker, Marquez._ “Who knows?” Dani winks, and is fascinated by the re-emergence of that vivid blush. “Might even be a 9 from 9 celebration.” He places a hand on Marc’s arm, feeling the muscles jump beneath his palm. “Good luck out there today.”

“Thanks,” Marc manages, before fleeing to his side of the garage.

-*-

_Get your arse over here now, Alex._

Alex stares at his phone.

_How much beer am I bringing?_

Because of course after continuing his perfect start to the season here in Germany, Marc is having a crisis. Of course.

_All of it._

Before he’s even started a reply, there’s another message.

_Shit, no, none of it. If I’m drunk, I’ll say something really stupid when Dani gets here._

And a third.

_But God I need a drink._

Alex panics.

_I’m on my way._

He starts running.

-*-

He doesn’t bother knocking. Alex bursts into his brother’s hotel room, prepared for freaking out, tears, fisticuffs; the whole nine yards. What he isn’t prepared for is what looks like the entire contents of Marc’s travel wardrobe spread over every available surface. Alex doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You said Dani was coming over? Tell me this isn’t a ‘what do I wear’ crisis, Marc. You aren’t gay, remember?”

“If I were gay,” Marc mutters, considering the black shirt in his hands, “I would know what to wear, and there wouldn’t be a problem.” He frowns at himself in the mirror. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Alex agrees. And well, in for a penny… “So, what have you got so far?”

Marc spins and tugs him into a quick, bone-crunching hug. “I really don’t deserve you,” he states it for the fact they both know it to be.

“Yup. But enough of me, Marc.” He grins. “What have you got?”

Marc jerks his head over to his bed. “Boxers?” He says, phrasing it more as a question.

“Well,” Alex bites his lower lip, holding in a smile. “That depends on what kind of date you want this to be, doesn’t it?”

Marc stalls.

Everything about him just- stops- movement, thought, even breathing. Then- “Alex!” It’s a long, piteous whine.

This, Alex decides, is what being God must feel like: _everything is way too easy._

-*-

Dani drums his fingers nervously on his jeans, staring at the door. The door, he is certain, is staring back. He eventually mans up and knocks, the sound jarring against the drumming in his head. It must be the sound of his heart beating, fast and loud enough for the world to hear.

“Hey!” Marc opens the door, eyes overly bright and smile overly friendly. It’s painful to see. “Just let me grab my wallet; I’m ready to go.”

Dani tries not to feel slighted when Marc shuts the door again, brief though it is. Some of this must show on his face, because Marc nudges him when he reappears, trying for casual. “It’s a bit of an embarrassing mess in there at the moment. Don’t ask.”

“You know that just makes me more curious, right?” Dani keeps his tone light.

“It’ll take a stronger man than you to break me,” Marc laughs, but it’s high-pitched, near hysterical. “Where are we going?”

Dani leaves it, for now. “There’s a good bar about twenty minutes from here. Taxi, or would you rather walk?” He’s giving Marc as much control over this as possible, trying to put him at ease.

_Is it me, or is he being overly solicitous?_ Marc wonders, trying to dampen his nerves. “Walk on the way,” he grimaces instead of smiling, “We’ll probably need the taxi for the way back.”

Dani chuckles. “Follow me, then.”

-*-

Despite Marc’s protests ( _Why did you let me grab my wallet if you insist on paying for everything_?) Dani buys the first, second and third round before he feels remotely ready to broach the obvious topic of conversation. He’s debating going for shots, when Marc brings it up, fiddling with the bottle in his hands.

“So- this tension. You know what’s causing it?”

Is Marc feeling out what Dani knows? What Dani thinks Marc might know? What Dani thinks Marc thinks he thinks Marc might know? This is getting far too convoluted; he shakes his head to clear it.

Marc takes this as an answer. “Oh. I don’t know if I’m relieved, or…”

“Or what?” Dani pounces on the words. “What do you think’s causing it?” Yes, he is playing Marc’s trick back on him. No, he has no shame.

“Or depressed.” His eyes don’t shift from the wood graining on the table. “You really have no idea?”

For the second time that night, Dani has to man up and put all of his cards on the table. It’s no easier this time around. But you only live once. And Dani wants that once to be happy; whether that’s with Marc or not is what he’s trying to find out, here. “I have an inkling,” he starts, “And if I’ve scared you, or worried you, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. Hell, you knowing at all was not my intention.”

That word, _depressed_ , is reverberating in his mind. Why would Marc be depressed, unless…

“Wait, what? Scared me? Worried me?” Marc finally meets his gaze. “What do you think I know, Dani?”

_Oh, shit._

-*-

Marc’s got to be imagining this, but- it all seems rather like a date. He’s panicked over the clothes, been picked up by a boy, and taken to a bar where he hasn’t paid for any of his drinks.

(But he is totally not the girl in this scenario. Marc would rather be gay.)

(It’s looking increasingly likely, because the open buttons on Dani’s shirt showcase his collarbones, and Marc’s nervously fighting the urge to lick them.)

(The collarbones, not the buttons, he clarifies with himself.)

(Holy shit, Alex might have a gay brother.)

(Bisexual, at least.)

(Holy _shit_. It needs repeating.)

Marc needs to slow down his drinking. But he’s in a good place at the moment- tipsy enough to be brave, and sober enough to be honest. So he asks. “So- this tension. You know what’s causing it?” Dutch courage only gets him so far; he cannot look Dani in the eye right now.

In the corner of his vision, Dani shakes his head. _Damn. You aren’t making this easy._ When the older man asks him the same question, Marc tries to sidestep it. Then Dani admits something, and Marc knows they’re talking at cross-purposes here. He finally looks back up. “What do you think I know, Dani?”

The look on Dani’s face is a photo shot if Marc’s ever seen one.

-*-

“You mean- you don’t know?” The drumming in his head gets louder; the swooping sensation in his gut makes him nauseous. “Are we talking about two different things? Are there two different things here that need to be talked about?”

Marc swallows the last of his beer. Dani fails in not staring at the bobbing in his throat. “Apparently so,” the younger man says softly, aware of where Dani’s gaze is resting. Or is it the same thing? Is it that easy, after all? “You first,” Marc prompts his team mate.

Dani blinks, and comes to his senses. “Age before beauty.” And there’s that blush again.

This is really unfair, because that blush is giving me all kinds of stupid- _(-stoo-pid-)_ -hope. “But first, you want another?” Dani gestures at the empty bottle in Marc’s hands. The label is completely destroyed.

Marc looks suspicious. “Your round, I presume?” He asks loftily.

Dani has to grin. “He can be taught!” He ruffles Marc’s hair on the way to the bar, ignoring the younger man’s growl.

The levity only lasts as long as it takes him to return to the table. Then there’s just- silence. Dani leans back on his chair. “This isn’t working.”

“Nope,” Marc agrees miserably.

“We’re going to end up roaring drunk, have a screaming match that fixes everything, not remember any of it in the morning, and act like nothing’s been solved.”

“Yup.” Marc pops the ‘p’. It’s only slightly less distracting then him wrapping his lips around the mouth of the bottle.

“Let’s do this properly, then. Shots?”

“Please.”

Dani nods. “Shots.”

-*-

Dani has quit smoking. Dani has quit smoking so effectively that he excuses himself to the toilet and ducks out to the smoking area, bumming a cigarette off a sympathetic fellow addict and inhaling deeply, desperately trying to calm the noise in his skull. When he turns around, Marc is there. Dani jumps about a foot in the air and somehow manages the drunken trick of not spilling a drop of his drink as he does so.

Marc’s staring at his hand. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he says slowly.

Dani raises the cigarette to his lips, Marc’s eyes following his every move. He inhales, holds the smoke in his lungs, blows it out to the side. Marc’s eyes are still on his lips. “I quit,” Dani says.

Marc raises an eyebrow. Sarcasm fails again. “Good job,” he quips. “I can really see your dedication; this is a stunning display of willpower-”

Dani decides that no, he wasn’t being sarcastic; he just wasn’t talking about the smoking. He throws away the cigarette, grabs Marc’s shoulders, and leans up to plant one on him. It tastes like ash and tequila; like shock and desperation; there’s a heart-stopping moment when _oh shit_ breaks through the alcohol clouding his thought processes, but then Marc responds, pulling him closer with hands on his waist and they’re biting at each other’s mouths-

Marc pulls away gasping. “Taxi?” he breathes out the question, barely audible.

“This is such a bad idea,” Dani bemoans, knowing he’s going to agree anyway.

“You started it,” the younger rider mutters, running his hands up and down Dani’s back.

“Stop it if you want to,” Dani begs him, because the only thing worse than Marc waking up and calling this a drunken mistake is Marc waking up and yelling about informed consent. They are the only two possible outcomes he can see to this.

But they’re drunk, and they’re apparently terrible at talking to each other, and they don’t plan to remember this in the morning.

(If this is the only way he can have Marc, Dani doesn’t want to forget. But if Marc doesn’t want to remember- he’s got years of practice in hiding his thoughts behind his eyes.)

“Taxi,” Marc states, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the exit.

-*-

The door to Dani’s hotel room bangs as it hits the wall behind it. It then slams shut as Marc shoves Dani up against the inside of the panel. “Drunk question time,” he murmurs between kisses. “Do you know how is this meant to work?”

“It’s meant to be a screaming match, not an interview.” Dani fights with the buttons on Marc’s shirt.

Marc stops his hands halfway down. “Seriously. Two guys works how? Any ideas?”

Dani stops fighting the grip. He stares at his team mate. “You’ve never… with a man?”

Marc grins lazily. “You’re something special, Pedrosa.”

(It’s a knife to Dani’s heart, because if he heard Marc say that when they were both stone cold sober- it would be _everything_. But they have been drinking, and alcohol is the general anaesthetic of unrequited lovers the world over, anyway.)

“Are you sure-”

“Dani,” Marc pushes his shoulders against the door. “I’m not stopping this. And you never asked for that to be an option so-” His eyes go wide. “You have before- with a man..?”

( _Holy shit, is Dani gay_?)

The pinned man shuts his eyes and thumps the back of his head on the door. “You want to have that conversation now?”

Marc traces the line of Dani’s neck with a finger, swipes a thumb over those collarbones, artfully flattered by the open buttons on his shirt. Dani shivers. “We’re crap at talking anyway,” Marc decides, “I’m good at picking things up as I go.”

Dani opens his eyes, gaze burning. “Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely, “You are.”

Dani pushes forwards; Marc goes with the momentum, stumbling backwards until his calves meet what must be the edge of the bed. He falls; there’s a rip as his grip on Dani’s shirt pulls two more buttons loose but it’s not soft curves exposed by the action; it’s flat muscles and planes and edges and it’s a good kind of shock Marc’s feeling, because he wants to explore them despite their unfamiliarity. His saying as much earns him a groan, and a shirtless team mate. Marc rolls them over so it’s Dani on his back, and straddles him.

It’s not entirely a good shock to realise he’s hard, and he can feel Dani hard and pressing against him. He distracts himself by suiting actions to words, and lowering his mouth to Dani’s chest. He licks and nibbles at collarbones, familiar enough territory, as his hands trace unfamiliar pectorals and abdominals, learning the new shapes underneath him. He moves lower and mouths at flat nipples, one after the other. On instinct, he bites gently at one of them; Dani squirms under him, rocking their hips together. It’s like electricity shooting down his spine; the heady mix of knowing he’s pleasing a partner and the fleeting pressure on his cock, familiar and different all at the same time. He stops, trying to get his head around it.

“Marc?” Dani raises himself up on his elbows. “Marc, you okay?”

Marc presses down experimentally. They both groan, and Dani falls back on the bed.

“Yeah,” Marc whispers, more to himself than the man beneath him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His team mate looks at him, asking and daring at the same time. “Prove it.”

Marc’s always liked a challenge.

-*-

Dani’s dreamed about this. Dani thinks he’s dreamed about this more than he’s slept over the past couple of months. He can add another stupid cliché to his Marquez list: dreams have nothing on reality.

He’s in his bed, shirtless. So far, status quo. Marc is straddling him, rocking against him gently, easing into the motions. He can feel a bruise forming on his chest, left there by the younger man. And he’s leaning down, sealing his lips over Dani’s and sucking every bit of air out of his lungs by the feel of it.

This is so far beyond normal, there are no words for it.

“So, next?” Marc asks against his mouth.

“Clothes,” Dani breathes out. “Less clothes.” He plays with Marc’s half opened shirt, and only completes the job when he sees the younger rider nod. Then Dani’s running hands down Marc’s chest and lightly at first, until he knows Marc’s shudder is good things, he digs his nails in, leaving red lines on tanned skin.

Marc makes the next move. It has to be his move: Dani isn’t going to push him into this. Ever so lightly, the younger man puts a hand on the waist of Dani’s jeans. Then he drags it down so it rests, still so lightly, on Dani’s cock. Dani bucks up, unable to help himself. Marc’s eyes are glued to where his hand is resting; taking in the sight, the shape of Dani straining against the denim, pushing against his hand.

“Less clothes,” he whispers. He brings his other hand up and unfastens Dani’s jeans. The older man lifts his hips so Marc can push them down, then kicks them off. It’s only cotton separating his hand from Dani’s skin now, black boxers with a small wet spot on the front that Marc puts his hand over, feeling the dampness, the heat under his palm. He meets Dani’s eyes for further instruction, and is more shaken by what he sees in them than by anything else so far this night.

Dani’s flushed, dazed, hair sticking up in a crazy mess that even habitual use of helmets can’t create. There’s a faint sheen of sweat gathering at the hollow of his throat, over his chest, which is rising and falling quickly in time with his pants for breath. The thought cascades through Marc with no warning: Dani is stunning like this. But his eyes- they catch, and hold him, because Marc doesn’t think anybody’s ever looked at him like that before. Like he was stunning, too, like he’s some unearthly creature, like he was the answer to their every prayer. It’s nearly overwhelming. It’s an adrenalin-filled, lust-ridden rush, and it gives him the confidence to press harder just to see Dani’s reaction, and whisper, “Next?”

But Dani breaks his gaze, eyes rolling back as he bucks into the touch. “Whatever you- want,” he gasps, voice breaking when Marc presses again. “Jesus, Marc, anything you want.”

“I’ve got no clue what I’m doing,” Marc reminds him, still whispering. It creates another layer of intimacy around them, locks out the real world and the reality of the fact that he is half-naked in bed with somebody he spends much of his daily working life around. A very male somebody. That’s a concern for another time.

Dani raises himself up on one elbow, and pulls Marc in for a slow, languorous kiss with his other hand. “Then tell me,” he breathes as they break away, lips still resting against each others’, “Tell me if I go too fast, or too far.”

He spins them gently, Marc on his back again with Dani falling into the cradle of his thighs. He drags his hands down Marc’s chest, his sides- -Marc sucks in a deep breath, thinking this is it-

-but Dani bypasses the waistband of his trousers to run his hands over Marc’s clothed legs, too. He presses a kiss to Marc’s sternum, just below his heart. “Relax,” he says into the skin. “This is meant to be fun.”

Marc exhales shakily, and nods. It’s the best he can do. It’s different, thinking a man is stunning, and having that man on top of him, about to do- something- to him. His nerves resurge.

“Relax, Marc,” Dani whispers into his chest. “Let me take care of you.” But Dani doesn’t wait for assent; he snaps open the button on Marc’s jeans, and eases them down. Marc helps him get them off, feeling dislocated from his body. He feels no more connected when Dani takes a hold of his boxers and eases them down too. Then he’s naked in front of another man. His team mate. His exception? He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes.

“Open your eyes,” Dani whispers. Marc doesn’t think he can. “Open your eyes, Marc.” It’s an effort of willpower; his eyelids feel like they weigh a motorbike’s worth each. But he opens his eyes, and stares at the hotel room ceiling until he thinks Dani probably wants him looking at him. There are too many identical pronouns in that thought. Is this his freak out? Crappiest timing _ever_.

Marc slides his gaze downwards to meet Dani’s. He shifts uneasily, still stunned by the admiration in his team mate’s eyes. Dani’s gaze is intense, intent on him. He’s not sure, but he thinks the older man smirks at him before lowering his mouth to the tip of Marc’s cock. Marc can’t help himself; he shuts his eyes and bucks his hips up. He hears a sound that might be Dani choking, or might be a chuckle, before an arm presses down on his hips and he is effectively immobilised.

He… he likes it. Likes handing over the control to Dani, and _what_?

Marc feels the heat of Dani’s mouth drop down him inch by inch, and revels in it. Dani tongues up the underside of his cock, around his tip, and he keens. The sound leaves his mouth quite without his consent. As does Dani’s name. His voice breaks on a moan:

“God, Dani-”

Dani groans around his cock, and the vibrations nearly do him in.

“Fucking hell, Dani-” Marc gasps, and the arm on his hips loosens. Marc bucks up, unable to help himself. Dani hums, and _takes_ it.

This time, Marc lets go. He gasps Dani’s name again, but fails to make a coherent warning. And Dani- he just takes _everything._ Marc feels his team mate’s throat convulse around his cock, and can only think _fucking hell_.

He’s breathing hard, barely getting air into his lungs before he breaths out again. He feels lightheaded, and it isn’t only from the orgasm. But that can wait.

Dani sits up. There’s a white smear on the corner of his mouth. Like it’s disconnected from his brain, Marc watches his hand as it cups Dani’s cheek, and his thumb wipes away the slight spillage. He watches his hand as it returns to his side, then the next thing he knows is the taste of salt and musk in his mouth and he realises he’s sucked his own spend off his thumb. His eyes widen as he takes in the sudden heat in Dani’s.

“I- just-” he tries, but his voice is hoarse. He realises Dani is still wearing his boxers, and the wet spot on the front is considerably larger now. He’s really turning his team mate on, and all he’s done is lie there and take what’s been done to him. Clearly, that needs to change.

Consciously this time, he reaches out and puts his hands on Dani’s hips, fingers smoothing under the cotton and clenching into Dani’s arse. Dani shivers, a full body shake that Marc sees as well as feels beneath his palms. He moves his hands down, taking the boxers with them. But he avoids Dani’s gaze as the elder man shifts to one knee, then the other, to kick the last bit of clothing off.

And then Marc is naked, in bed, with another naked man. He is determinately not thinking about it. Thinking can wait for later; right now he is _feeling_. He feels the soft skin of Dani’s cock under his fingers as he closes a hand around his team mate’s length. He rubs the slick of Dani’s pre-come into that skin as he strokes up and down, the movements familiar and alien at the same time as he recreates what he himself likes on another man’s body.

Dani gasps, thrusts into his hand, and Marc realises that he can’t even afford to _think_ right now. All of his focus is on the soft, so soft skin under his hand and the look on Dani’s face; sheer rapture that Marc fleetingly wonders at. A half-hearted hand job doesn’t deserve that expression.

_Shit,_ is it him causing that look on Dani’s face?

The intensity ratchets up until Marc feels like he’s crawling in his skin. Dani comes in his hand with a gasp, a breathy, wordless sound, too loud in the otherwise silent room.

And Marc can’t deny that he’s intrigued, flattered and terrified all at the same time. Maybe _feeling_ the moment wasn’t the way to go.

-*-

Marc wakes up with the full knowledge of what he has done. It isn’t comforting. He doesn’t even bother with a shower; he flees, leaving his teammate slumbering in the double bed.

-*-

Dani wakes up alone, and can’t muster up surprise over, _did you really expect anything else_?

-*-

“So.” Marc has probably seen more of his brother in the last two weeks than he has in the last two years. It’s summer break, and he’s crashing at their parents’ house. If it’s related to the volume of the alcohol cabinet, Alex isn’t asking, and so far, Marc hasn’t told.

He can’t meet his brother’s eyes.

Alex must know what this crisis is about, anyway.

“I’m probably bisexual.”

Alex claps his hands together and _shrieks_.

Marc downs his drink in response. He’s simultaneously dreading and can’t wait for the Indy GP to arrive.

-*-

Livio observes one side of the garage, then the other. He sighs. He is ignored; nobody is talking to him, so he can do nothing about it so long as results keep coming.

He prays for a Honda 1-2 more ardently than he has ever before in his life.

-*-

Dani shows up like clockwork. Somehow, he always knows where Vale will be having a sneaky cigarette. He holds out his hand; wordlessly, the Italian hands pack and lighter over. They smoke in silence until Dani’s done with his first, and lights up another.

“So,” Vale guesses. “You went there.”

It’s not even a question, Dani realises. “Hi, Vale,” he greets, falsely cheerful. “My summer break sucked, but on the upside, I have never been fitter in my _life._ How was yours?”

Vale gives him an even stare.

“I went there,” Dani confirms miserably. “That obvious?”

“Is there something about you that screams, I made a move on my seven years younger, male team mate, do you mean?”

“Yes,” Dani clenches his jaw. “Of course I mean that.”

“Then no, it’s not obvious.”

Dani punches him on the arm. “Then how did you guess?”

Vale jumps, and rubs the newly-forming bruise. For a little guy, Dani packed a punch, the bastard. “You aren’t a jittery mess of jumbled nerves anymore,” the Italian explains.

“But I’m still smoking.” Dani salutes him with the burning ember, punctuating the point.

“What you are now,” Vale raises both his eyebrows, “Is a morose, depressive character who should instead be happy to be back at work after the summer break.” He takes a deep breath, and asks the pertinent question. “It didn’t go well?”

Dani laughs bitterly. “I may have made the biggest mistake of my life to date.”

Vale takes it all in: the slouch, the downcast eyes and the listless way Dani lifts the cigarette to his mouth. “What happened?”

Dani grimaces. “This is one of those moments where I think I shouldn’t be talking about it, but fuck it, I need to.” He takes a deep, nicotine laced breath. “I woke up alone,” he says succinctly. Vale sucks in a sharp, shocked breath. Dani takes in his reaction, and grins self-deprecatingly. “Yeah. Why did I expect anything else, right?”

The Italian clicks his tongue. “On one hand, yeah, _why_?” He emphasises, rather unnecessarily in Dani’s opinion, “But on the other-”

Dani cuts in. “Are you saying anything I haven’t already thought for myself?”

Vale gives him a crooked grin. “Are you smoking your own cigarettes?”

The Spaniard has to give him that point.

“So,” The Italian continues with barely a pause, “You slept with your ‘everybody-previously-assumed-straight’ teammate. It might take him longer to get used to the idea, right?”

“Like I hadn’t thought of this,” Dani moans, only showing so much in the presence of a man who had the trust to see him so. Marc was also on that list, for the record, but Dani couldn’t imagine him appreciating the specialty of it at this point in time.

“Hey.” Vale grabs his arm, forces the Spaniard to look at him. “You’ve had your whole life to get used to the gay thing, and a couple of months for the ‘hi team mate, my bed or yours?’ bombshell to sink in. Let Marquez do some catching up for once, alright?”

Dani fidgets. “Do you think I should-”

“And for the love of God, don’t apologise.” Vale cuts him off. “We’re going to go out there tomorrow and make the little bastard work for his results, okay?”

“But-”

“And not another word about it until the chequered flag, okay?”

“But-”

“Dani.”

“Fine!” Dani takes his frustration out on the last of the cigarette, sucking deep and exhaling as much of his trepidation that he can let go of. He lights another with the ghost of the previous and repeats.

“Better?” Vale asks, one (hundred) drag(s) too soon.

But Dani locks it up, every messy, tangled feeling he has concerning his team mate, and smiles weakly. “So, Vale. How was your summer?”

It’s a testament to their friendship that the Italian lets him get away with it.

-*-

On the podium, Dani decides _fuck it all_ and concentrates his attention on making sure that no inch of Marc is left undrenched by champagne. Once that mission is accomplished, he sprays the rest over the barrier into the masses of their pit crews, and has a split second to wonder if Livio is giving him the all-seeing eye-

-but then he is shuffled off of the stage, and in the interviews, the only excuse he can drag up is, “I’m happy because I’m racing against Marc, and he’s incredible,” he coughs, “In incredible form, and I’m keeping him honest. More here, in America, than anywhere else.” He forces a grin. “Are you ready to rename it the United States of Marquez yet?”

The journalist laughs, but unsurprisingly, that conversation doesn’t make it into the TV cut.

Dani isn’t surprised; if he sorted his feelings out properly he might even label the major one as _grateful_ , but that’s neither here nor there.

What is here and _now_ is Marc knocking on his hotel door (Dani has already peered through the peephole and panicked appropriately), and Dani opening said door in silence, waving his teammate into the living area of his suite. It barely takes a minute before Marc breaks.

“This is ridiculous,” Marc points out, “I’ve seen you naked, and yet I’m so scared of saying the wrong thing here and pissing you off to the point of driving you off that I’m not sure I can say anything at all.”

“Well,” Dani points out in return, once he’s digested every facet of that sentence, “You’re right. That is ridiculous.”

Because hope is a fucking treacherous thing, but he thinks that is exactly what is rising in his chest-

Marc snorts. “Helpful. But seriously. Was this about fucking me, or making love to me?”

-and Dani knows that he has a chance here. It might only be one chance, and that’s why he has to be brave and lay all of his cards on the table.

Because Marc wouldn’t be here, asking that question, if he wasn’t emotionally invested in the answer.

“You told me, off hand in the moment,” (And Dani admits this, because it might yet be his only defence), “That I was something special.” Dani reaches out, and he takes one of Marc’s hands in his own, hoping the younger man can’t feel the tremor. “I didn’t say something similar, because… because it felt fucking _stupid_ at the time to say something so blindingly obvious in inadequate words.”

Marc’s eyes widen; his lips part on a gasp and his pupils dilate. “Dani,” he breathes the name out.

“You may have gathered, from what you remember of that night,” Dani takes a deep breath, “That I have intimate knowledge of what to do with another man’s body.” He meets his team mate’s eyes. “That I’m gay.”

His team mate breathes deeply also, but doesn’t back down. “I remember everything about that night,” he says softly.

This is simultaneously the hardest thing Dani has ever done in his life, and easier than he’d ever dreamed it would be. “If that’s true, you might remember that I was incredibly invested in you, far more than I was in the prospect of simply getting off because it was convenient at the time.”

“Dani,” Marc’s voice is firmer, this time. “You’re implying everything I want to hear. But I need it plainer.” His hand in Dani’s grips more tightly. “I need you to be brave where I can’t, because I can’t take this step first.” Marc takes a deep breath, and swallows it. “And I definitely can’t take it alone.”

“Then take it _with_ me!” It burst out of Dani before he even thinks about it; he takes an extra moment to clarify: “I want to take this step with you. _Only_ with you.” He smiles sheepishly. “It’s something I’ve wanted for the last few months, if I’m being honest.”

Marc eyes him unfathomably for an uncomfortable second, before matching Dani’s smile with a wider one. “I want to try to make something of this,” Marc finally admits, and simple words have never sounded sweeter to Dani’s ears, “And I need to know you’re with me, okay?”

“I’m with you,” Dani confirms immediately, heart in his voice. It almost sounds like it belongs to someone else. “I won’t let go.”

And Marc sighs, but it’s pure relief in his expression, and Dani relaxes like a candle in flames.

“Marc Marquez Alentà,” Dani says, the extra name rolling off of his tongue like honey, “Would you do me the honour of being my boyfriend?”

Marc stares at him wordlessly, before bursting out in laughter. To be honest, Dani struggles not to feel offended.

“Daniel Pedrosa Ramal,” Marc finally fires back (humorously acknowledging the wince that is Dani hearing his full name, and filing it away for future reference when he’s pissed at the older man), “Nothing at this moment would please me more.”

And they’re both fucking _dorks_ , and sappy ones at that, but when Dani hauls Marc in for the awaited, affirming kiss, it is heat and want and promise-

-and at that moment, everything Marc’s ever wanted.

-*-

“Do you have an extra pack?” Dani asks the Italian at Brno after qualifying, with what could almost be called a conspiring smirk. “Only-”

Thing is, there are only so many reasons Dani could be this happy, considering his team mate still beat him for pole position.

“Dani’s incredibly good at corruption, and I’m an easy target,” Marc says breezily, as he gate-crashes their top secret emergency smoking shelter with a cheeky wink. The aforementioned pole-holding, championship leading bastard steals Dani’s cigarette, takes a drag, and metaphorically coughs his lungs out.

Vale tries not to be pleased that this is still something he’s better at than the younger man, as he smoothly breathes out carcinogens. He fails miserably, and figures it shows quite clearly. He looks both of them up and down, taking it all in.

Dani’s the most relaxed Vale’s seen him in months even before that first (stolen) cigarette, and Marc looks like a cat with an assured lifetime’s supply of canaries.

“I’m not going to win a single race this season, am I?” He bemoans, even as he cheers on the inside for his (begrudging rival and) friends.


End file.
